


Bright Young Things

by Padf00tandmo0ny



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bahorel is Crowther, Combeferre is Lockwood, Courfeyrac is Timms, Enjolras is Scripps, Eponine is Fiona, F/M, Fantine is Ms Lintott, Gen, Grantaire is Posner, JVJ is a Oxford Prof, Javert is Felix, Jehan is Irwin, Joly is Akthar, M/M, Marius is Rudge, Montparnasse is Dakin, Multi, Thenardier is Hector, WARNING explores themes of paedophilia very loosely much like the film and play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padf00tandmo0ny/pseuds/Padf00tandmo0ny
Summary: Where a group which barely missed becoming Historic, are aiming to study history at the most prestigious universities in England. If their 'pursuit of sex, sport and a place at university' doesn't dominate their lives, what else will? There's a new teacher on the staff, and it's not his gap year. But it may as well be. Chaos ensues when staff clash, students swoon, and there's a few dick jokes thrown in too.A crossover of sorts between Victor Hugo's Les Miserables and Alan Bennett's The History Boys. Exploring class, religion, sexuality and a smidge of politics in the 1980's - with some french thrown in for good luck.(Updates are sporadic, give a uni student some leeway! - if you wanna watch the original play this is based off, theres a boot of the adaptation here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chufigXZzac )





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If many modern AU's can be set in the USA, I can damn well set this in the UK. Follows both The History Boys as a play and film, lots of dialogue lifted from the script.
> 
> All recognisable work belongs to Alan Bennett and Victor Hugo. I'm making no money from this, it's purely for fun.

Thenardier’s room was plastered with dog eared, aged film posters, excerpts from newspapers and print outs of forgotten poems. Much like the decrepit attempts at decoration on the walls from times gone by, the chairs and tables were in a sorry state of affairs. It was only the uniforms of the boys seated on the rickety furniture that resembled the impression of superiority that Cutler’s Academy tried to present to the public. The eight boys however had not adapted the preferred attitudes. They were academic, that was true. But much like their peers at secondary modern or polytechnics, the grammar school boys were still as crude as seventeen year olds tended to be. Boisterous shouting of obscenities and the occurrences of the weekend passed between them, their proudly achieved A level results dropped on their desks and ignored as the thought of another year under Thenardier’s tutelage caused excitement. The man was strange, often thought as an imbecile, with questionable behaviour and lacking professionalism which was often ignored for the sake of the grades his unorthodox teaching produced. Yet beneath the surface was an intelligent man, whose talent had wasted away and been replaced by a greedy, self serving child. One whose morals had dissipated and been replaced by conniving and sleazy actions. Ones which even his pupils dismissed, perhaps out of naivety and ignorance, or perhaps due to the knowledge that despite Thenardier’s behaviour, he achieved results. Ones that the eight wished to achieve.

Thenardier’s entrance was always treated with jovial cheering, and apathetic tolerance from the more reserved of the boys. Yet on their return to school, all the boys hovered around his motorcycle parking space, anxiously awaiting his arrival. The older man pulled up on his battered bike, and was soon flooded with the attentions of the eight returning boys. Combeferre, the self proclaimed ‘guide’ of the group and the more gentle of them, stepped forwards and removed Thenardier’s glove with a flourish, declaring ‘Les gants!’.

‘L’écharpe.’ In a similar move, a young Indian boy by the name of Joly took the ratty scarf off of their teacher’s neck. In a routine long practised and performed, Marius Pontmercy removed the jacket, which Montparnasse quickly replaced with the suit jacket he held. Finally, Courfeyrac removed the helmet, and bowing deeply announced ‘le casque!’. With a dramatic spin which only he could carry off, Thenardier swept his arm in a grand gesture towards the door as the bell rang for their first lesson.


	2. Introductions: I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's somewhat boring, but bear with me. I'm now following THB plot. The next chapter will be fun!

León Montparnasse was the ringleader of the group, so to speak. His styled black hair was always immaculate, as were his outfits. There was a dangerous air to him that could not imitated due to the punk influence that was visible in his character, making the younger years part in awe of Montparnasse and his friends. It was a well known rumour that as well as carrying around a comb for his hair, Parnasse also had a knife on him at all times. No one in Cutler's thought of confronting him. This reverence extended to his cousin too. Enjolras disliked the almost religious focus on his group, but wouldn't trade if for anything as Parnasse and attention came intertwined. Instead of being the focus, Enjolras liked to focus on his own interests. While Montparnasse looked mostly to women and his outwardly appearance, Enjolras has a passionate, almost obsessive docus on his inner self. This distinguished him from Montparnasse. Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible, Montparnasse was a terrible young man who was capable of being charming.

Though the foil to his cousin, Enjolras was not altogether attached to him. When outside of school, he was one of three. Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide, and Courfeyrac the center. Combeferre was methodical, preferring observation over interaction. Nevertheless, despite his dedication to academic and self development, Ferre had developed one vice: smoking, one which troubled him daily. This was somewhat dampened by his partners own habits. Courfeyrac was a well known partier, and all round jolly person - that was not to say he was less intelligent, nor less successful. Courfeyrac merely celebrated his successes more vocally, more enthusiastically, and above all: more illegally.

The four boys were often attached in interchangeable pairs, sometimes featuring Grantaire, or the rest of the Oxbridge Eight, as their ridiculous Headmaster Javert had dubbed them. Grantaire kept to himself, or followed Montparnasse and Enjolras, due to lingering feelings towards the former and unknown developing ones to the latter. The lack of success with Parnasse had been largely that the punk was more inclined towards women, having more recently had somewhat of an arrangement with Éponine, the Headmaster’s assistant and Thenardier’s daughter. Whether it was still occurring, was anyone’s business. To really place the last nail in the coffin, Grantaire had found out about this through the school gossip system, rather than Éponine herself (considering they’d been friends since he’d moved onto her estate when he was five) or maybe even from the ever boastful Montparnasse. Not that he had expected any reciprocating feelings from León, he knew a scrawny artistic gay Jew wasn’t exactly up his street, but at least a bit of courtesy for his feelings would have been appreciated.

 If not Montparnasse, Grantaire was the hub of the group. And those on the fringes were Joly, Bahorel and Marius. Joly and Bahorel had learnt the hard way that Grammar schools in relatively rough areas didn't seem to accept those who weren't white. As a result, the two boys were more hesitant when interacting with their peers. Joly spent the majority of his spare time with his girlfriend Musichetta, and Bossuet - who not many of the group had met, nor had they heard much about. All that was known was that Musichetta and Bossuet had met him at the mosque his family attended, and that after some consternation and opposition from their families, the three had been inseparable. Their little group sometimes met with Bahorel and his boss Feuilly. Bahorel had often brought up his employer who was a 'qualified doctor, really clever', but had suffered from chronic illness and now instead owned a antiques shop, and often got in debates with the hopefully-a-doctor Joly. No one could understand how Feuilly really managed to survive on what little he made from the job that Bahorel really should have been fired from. The long haired ginger man seemed to only collect Polish memorabilia and odd brick-a-brack, something it was hard to make a living off of. Regardless of the strange age gap, the older man often joined the group on trips to the pub, or other such slightly illegal activities where an adult was the least likely participant.

The last of the eight was Marius. Though well meaning, Marius was not seen as academic, as his focus was often on either rugby, or keeping his head in the clouds. Cutler's school had been given a generous donation by his late father before his passing in the Falklands, leaving Marius with a place at a high end school, but not with high end hopes. The hope was for Oxford to take him on a sports scholarship, but not even Ms Fauchelevent held out hope for that. It seemed that Marius, for all his passion, was doomed to fail.


	3. Interlude: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash forward - following the play (as usual)

_The last time he had seen Prouvaire, Enjolras had been in school, naive and still rough around the edges when it came to crafting a story. Now, his skills had been honed and he was hunting for a story. Parliament had been the subject of scorn for its recent passing of bills, and the man had jumped at the chance to write of the discord. Nothing made more money than a scandal, and nothing was more scandalous than politics. Surprisingly, at the heart of it, was the older history professor._

_Prouvaire was addressing four MP’s, his voice and posture showing strength and demanding attention, despite the wheelchair he was seated in that often made the weaker minded give into their assumptions of his disability. Antoine Enjolras could still remember watching the man, though much younger, jog out of the school gates towards his bus after teaching late._

_He had thought of approaching, gaining a story, or even reminiscing on the time Jean Prouvaire had been his headstrong teacher. Was this the time and place for that? Was the chance at missing paying his rent worth the brief encounter with an old acquaintance?_

_‘Our strategy must therefore be to insist that the bill does not diminish the liberty of the subject, but amplify it.’ The former teachers voice carried a defiant tone, echoing across the street. No, today was not the day for confrontation or remembrance. It wasn’t their schooldays, he was no longer a boy. Léon would rush ahead and cause strife, no doubt, but Antoine had a level head. Prouvaire could wait for another day, he had a story to write._


	4. Classroom: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thernardier and the boys are reunited, teaching begins and things get rather silly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on my phone while tired and hungover, but you deserved an update after waiting so long (SORRY, life has come at me fast)

‘Now fades the thunder of the youth of England, clearing summer's obligatory hurdles!’ Thernardier greeted the arriving class, his arms spread as if he were about to engulf them all in his strong grasp. At the last moment, his arms fell and each student was given a singular shoulder tap, as if the older man had realised the impropriety of his actions within the classroom. ‘Felicitations to you all, well done my dear Combeferre, Parnasse! And Marius too. All grades show your striving for the noble and necessary steps our illustrious establishment so wishes for you. Now we have surpassed your A levels, you must with to return to me for the resuming of your education!’ All was said with certain flair to his actions, his words carrying an undercurrent of sarcasm and a stronger sense of a patronising tone.

Marius slowly raised his head from where it was lying on the table, with a puzzled look on his face. 'But what are A levels then? These were our ticket into university, surely’. If there anyone more skeptical than Marius, it was only Grantaire. Marius held no love for the age old institution of university, but applied for his family's sake. To have his world changed, in any such way, always caused an internal conflict for the drifting student.

‘Ah boys. They mark your credentials, your reservation on the great journey of university, all via your CV - your cheats visa!’ the eight boys all gave low laughs, except for Marius who was pondering on the words spoken. It was all rather confusing for poor Marius. An established teacher, challenging the system? The well bred young man couldn't fathom it. While Marius had been lost in thought, Thernardier's speech had continued, his words twisted to become almost mocking by his bitter tone. 'Our esteemed headmaster has given these periods of time the dubious title of general studies. The euphemistic title of 'general', acting as a verbal fig leaf' at this, he wagged his finger at the class as if to chastise them. 'Make no mistake boys. There is no more an otiose class than general studies. If, heaven forfend, I became in charge of our timetable, this class would be called A Waste Of Time. There is no subject more specific than general studies, yet it holds no practical application to getting on.'

While speaking, Thernardier had been pacing around the classroom, gesturing with his waving arms. Coming to a standstill, the elder man turned around and addressed his class once more. However, "all knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use". Who said such a thing?'. All eight boys stayed silent, staring dumbly at their teacher. With a great sigh, Thernardier sat upon the edge of his desk.' the loveliest of trees,the cherry now?'. A groan came from many of the students. It was Joly who spoke out.

'A.E.Houseman sir?'

'A.E.Houseman sir indeed' replied Thernardier harshly, evidently disappointed in his classes failure.

'Wasn't he a... Well, nancy sir?' piped up the usually uncaring Courfeyrac,  who rarely integrated with the group unless for humorous purposes. Joining in with Court's jest, Thernardier comically pointed at him and wagged his finger vigorously.

'Foul grubby minded trollop! Do not use such a word!' each word was stressed and accompanied by the light hitting of the student with the workbook currently in Thernardier's hand. Courfeyrac responded by raising the dramatics once more, his hand resting on his heart.

'But YOU use it sir!' All  eyes were watching the hilarious exchange like a game of tennis, flicking between the student and teacher, anticipating the next moves.

'I do sir, I know, but I am far gone in age and decrepitude to change my ways dear ones!' It was all an elaborate pantomime, no word truly meant.

'oh, you're not supposed to hit us, sir! We could report you, sir.' the mock outrage from Bahorel was pinned with an undertone of mockery, the use of sir as an afterthought showing his true feelings towards the aged quirky teacher.

The hitting never hurt, really. The boys found it humorous, revelling in the attention it brought them. They knew why they were hit, but didn't seem to care. Thenardier jokingly hit the boys who he liked, and Montparnasse would lap it up, declaring himself to be black and blue. The depth of the significance of Thenardier's touch would be lost on them until years later, when the handsy schoolmasters were less frequent, and more exposed. To the young men, it meant nothing. To Thenardier, it meant much more.

'oh yes sir, you should treat us with more respect.' Though he had joined in with their fun, there was an air to Montparnasse's behaviour that suggested he wasn't altogether joking. 'We're scholarships candidates now. Oxford and Cambridge no less.'Almost instantly, a heavy silence fell over the classroom, not one student knowing what to truly say.

'well, "wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire". Such silliness. Have we so quickly finished with less lustrous institutions? What of Leicester, of York, of Nottingham. Our dear own Sheffield.' As quickly as the humour had arrived, it had left. Thernardier's mood seemed to shift instantly. Turning to the desk to the right of his, Thernardier turned to the sullen blonde. 'Enjolras, you believe in God. Believe also in me: forget such foolishness. Why would you wish to go to such places?' each boy turned to look at the others, and all contained almost scandalised expressions. It was Combeferre who spoke out.

'Old sir, tried and tested!' Thernadier's response was to let out a bitter laugh.

'No. No. It's because others wish to go there. The hot ticket, standing room only. You all wish to be like all other grammar school boys. I do not stand for such behaviour.' as the bell rang, Thernardier opened his classroom door to usher the eight boys out, hitting each over the head with the workbook still in his hand. 'And I'll thank you not to mention Oxford and Cambridge in my lessons. Grubby festering trolllops, go!' Rather quickly, the young men rushed out of the strange man's class, eager to escape the madness for another day. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nancy is outdated British slang for gay, and is used in context in this chapter. I lifted the sentence from the play itself which is written by a gay man. Given that Courf isn't gonna be straight, I felt it was OK to keep in the chapter - also, it's an interesting part of foreshadowing for something!


	5. Interlude: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little insight into the probably unexpected religious take on Enjolras

_It was true that Antoine Enjolras believed in God, despite religion going out of fashion rather rapidly. The common prayer book was on his bedside table, next to Kafka and McEwan. It seemed contrary that such a learned man would subscribe to ancient ideals, yet he did. He would not convince himself it was a permanent subscription or the newsletter of Christianity, no. He knew that after a few reads of the broadsheet of the bible that he may lose such faith, but acts of comfort never made such long lasting sense. There was comfort to be found in the religious instructions and tales. Though many found them outlandish, to Enjolras, religion was a form of escapism much like any book, sport or drug that others often used. Except it seemed that much like stamp collecting, the hobby or religion was fading. Even Enjolras' vicar seemed to be surprised when he would appear at weekly services, never missing one. That was not to say that he was the only religious one of the eight boys. Grantaire seemed to be some form of lapsed Jew - though his family were very much practicing. Joly, as well as Bossuet and Musichetta, was muslim, though unlike Grantaire and Enjolras, he was much less vocal about it. Enjolras was the most free to speak of his faith, yet the most isolated. Grantaire and Joly had their family and friends, Enjolras only had the aged vicar at the local church to turn to. Hence why it seemed unlikely he would keep to Christianity. Montparnasse's passing fancies were women, Enjolras' were belief systems. It was only a matter of time before this one ran its course._


	6. Hallways: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Jean Prouvaire, and the headmaster is the usual turd.

* * *

The man stood outside Javert’s office blended in with the students milling around between classes, despite the sharp grey suit and navy tie he wore. His strawberry blonde hair was swept back and slicked into shape with pomade, ginger streaks standing out as it caught the light. The young man was strikingly pale, his ice blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across his nose standing out against the white canvas of his skin. He had been waiting for a quarter of an hour outside the Headmaster’s office like a student in trouble. The receptionist - Ponine, or some similar name - had said the Headmaster Javert would see him shortly, yet it seemed like time was a foreign concept at Cutler’s Grammar. 

Out strode Javert, his broad form reaching the top and sides of the doorway. In another life, he would’ve made an excellent bouncer or some form of law enforcement. As it was, the bulky man cast an imposing figure in his fitted black suit and striped red and white tie. He had almost walked past Jean when he span on his heel, having registered the man’s presence. ‘And who are you?’ The puzzled headmaster enquired.

‘Prouvaire,’ said the younger man, as if his name would provide all meaning. ‘The  temporary contract teacher?’ Seeing Javert’s face, it was evident that clarification would be needed. ‘Ah, quite.’ Having gathered his thoughts, Javert began to walk swiftly down the corridor, Prouvaire quick on his heels. ‘Examinations are at the end of term, which gives us almost three months to prepare the boys for their application. You were at Cambridge of course, you know the form.’ This remark was exaggerated with a flick of the hand which seemed almost too feminine coming from the larger and assertive headmaster. 

‘Oxford, Jesus.’ Prouvaire gently corrected. 

‘Hmm. I had thought of going. But it’s wad the dawning of tthe sixties and change was in the air. I went to Hull, studied geography. Larkin and whatnot. The boys are a likely lot, well read and well educated. There’s one oddity, Pontmercy. More of a legacy than anything else. Might get into Loughborough on a bad year, not Christchurch college material.’

At this the headmaster seemed to let out a disbelieving laugh, or some form of huff. Collecting himself, Javert carried on.

‘Other than that, they’re all a likely lot. But they need polish, refinery. I want to see them up there with Manchester Grammar. Haberdasher Askes. Leighton Park. Or is that an open prison?’ 

Both seemed to share a slight smile at the mistake, the corner of Prouvaire’s lip turning up ever so slightly into the hint of  a smile. Javert once again broke the lull.  ‘There is a vacancy in history.’ 

Pondering this, Jean seemed to be drifting of into his thoughts. ‘Yes, that’s very true.’ 

Javert’s brow furrowed. ‘A vacancy. In the school’. Jean blushed pink and seemed to look embarrassed.  

‘Get me scholarships Prouvaire. Places at the very least. We’ll make oxbridge boys of them yet!’


End file.
